Spectator Sport
by 004MOG
Summary: PWP - Pie Without Plot. (written August 2014)


This was quick and dirty, which is to say I haven't spent a lot of time fretting over quality like I normally do and just *wrote* (!), I got this idea from a tumblr post at work this morning and started writing this over lunch, I didn't even think this was my ship but apparently it is?, I never EVER write this much in one day, what is my life

I didn't mean for this to come out G-rated but it did. I tried

"Remember, you're doing this for the children!" Connie said with a wink.

"Right," responded Erwin, unbuttoning his shirt, preparing to strip down to his wifebeater for what was about to come. He didn't mind, really. It was just a silly stunt. His department had nominated him, and he hadn't backed down, so here he was. They had raised the most money in their bracket. So he'd go in the ring. That was the deal.

"Ladies, gentlemen, and others!" Hanji's voice boomed over the atrium loudspeaker. "Come one, come all to witness our event for Week 3 of our charity drive, the face-off of a lifetime: the Pie Pit!"

It was for a good cause, of course. Each department had voted on a representative—that is to say, the person they most wanted to watch suffer, if you asked Erwin—and put money in their pool. The departments were split into two divisions, and whoever raised the most money in their division was the "winner." Then, the two representatives from each winning department would join this so-called _Pie Pit._ Hence, how Erwin ended up here in his Friday jeans and his undershirt. All the money raised was to be donated to Sina Children's Research Hospital, though, so it was worth it.

"In the north corner, from Human Resources, at 188 cm and 92 kilograms, Erwiiiiin Smiiiiiith!"

Erwin shook his head, chuckling over Hanji hamming it up for the mic. The two of them had known each other since college, and Erwin strongly suspected the reason he might be here is because Hanji donated more than their share of money to his department's collection tin.

"And in the south corner, from Auditing, a whopping 196 centimeters tall and 102 kilograms...Miiikeeee Zachariiiiiaaas!"

The man opposite Erwin, Mike, was tall and blond, like him, with bangs that fell into his eyes. He wore a well-fitting white v-neck tee, and he twisted from side to side, ostensibly stretching his muscles.

"Now, once I sound the bell—" Erwin snorted, Hanji _would_ bring in a bell— "this match isn't over until all the pies are gone!"

Connie, an intern of Erwin's, had volunteered to be his pie-guy. "Here's the first one," he said, handing it to Erwin.

 _Ding!_ The match was on.

Mike, too, had been supplied a pie. So how would this work? They would hit each other in the face with pie until they ran out? Simple enough. (And it wasn't even pie, it was whipped cream on a paper plate, but whatever.) The two men crossed the ring—it was just a section of office floor that had been cleared of furniture and the floor covered with tarp, really—and looked into each other's eyes, sizing the other up.

"After you," insisted Erwin.

"Certainly," said Mike, before Erwin got his first faceful of pie.

Erwin wiped the cream away from his eyes so he could see well enough to return the favor to his opponent.

Mike stood there for a moment, whipped cream outlining the shape of his face. A handful of people hollered and clapped.

"Remember," Hanji announced, "one pie for every hundred Euros we raised! And our total was three thousand two hundred!"

The blob that was Mike's face parted as he opened his mouth and spoke.

"Sasha, I'm going to need more pie."

 _Splat_.

 _Splat._

The two men took turns. One pie encroached on Erwin's ear. As a retaliation, the next one went in Mike's hair. Sasha, Mike's assistant, tried to offer him a towel but he turned it down, asking for the next pie instead, which he boldly planted on Erwin's chest.

It went downhill from there.

They weren't even pausing between rounds anymore, taking a steady stream of pies and attacking each other's bodies. The crowd was really getting into it, gasping when Erwin reached around to clap Mike on the back with one, and cheering when Mike took two at once and smeared them into each of Erwin's cheeks. Hanji was going nuts on the mic— "What a maneuver—Oooh, foul! Foul!—Zacharias, with the parry! And—oh no!"

 _Zip_. One second, Mike had been about to hit Erwin with another pie—the next, his foot was slipping on a stray paper plate and he was on his back on the floor. The crowd fell silent.

Erwin crouched down next to Mike. "Are you okay?"

Mike answered his question with another pie to the face.

Erwin didn't even clear the whipped cream out of his eyes before he outstreched his hand to Connie in a wordless request. He felt, rather than saw, the pie come into his hand, and brought it down with a vengeance.

The crowd went wild.

He wasn't sure what part of Mike he had just hit, but he smeared the pie around for good measure. His hand slipped off the plate, and he felt the fabric of Mike's t-shirt, and something firm underneath that. Abs, maybe.

Hm.

Erwin let his hand linger.

Yep, definitely abs.

He dragged his hand away before anyone could notice, making a show of wiping his eyes clean before offering a hand to help Mike up.

 _Ding ding ding!_

"And I believe—yes, that's the last of the pies!" shouted Hanji. "Thank you, everyone, for donating and watching the show today!"

"Need a hand?" Erwin asked as the crowds began to disperse.

Mike took Erwin's hand, hoisting himself to an upright position. "Thanks," he said. He shook his head like a dog, and whipped cream flew off the ends of his hair like a snow flurry. Erwin laughed.

"Um, your towel, Mr. Zacharias?"

"Thanks, Sasha," Mike told his assistant, beginning to wipe himself down, still sitting on the floor. Connie had brought Erwin a towel as well, and cleaning himself off, it was clear he was going to need another one. The two men stood up, and Connie appeared at Erwin's side.

"We have some coffee ready, if either of you two would like any."

"Thank you, Connie," said Erwin. He followed the boy to a card table that had been set up next to the loudspeaker. Erwin took a cup, removing the cap to add the creamer and sugar just the way he liked it—on second thought, he'd hold the cream this time; he'd had enough _cream_ today as things were.

Erwin was just putting the cap back on the paper cup when Mike spoke to him.

"You were feeling me up just now, weren't you?"

Erwin pretended to be especially interested in the coffee, closing his eyes and tilting his head back for the first drink, even though it hadn't cooled yet and burned his throat and tongue. He swallowed loudly, his eyes still closed as he wiped his upper lip. "Good coffee."

"So, that's a yes," Mike teased.

Well, Mike hadn't seemed to be bothered by it, so that was a start. Erwin tested the waters, looking off to the side, but trying on a coy smile. "And if I was?"

"Then that's hardly fair."

"What's not fair about it?" Erwin made eye contact this time.

Mike smiled and shrugged, taking a sip of his own coffee. "That I don't get to do the same to you."

Erwin made up his mind. He grabbed a napkin and called for Connie to bring him a pen. Then, once Connie was gone, he wrote ten digits and gave the napkin to Mike.

"Maybe if you call this number, you will."

He hoped he would.


End file.
